


A Lifetime Together

by sempre_balla



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, that's right buddy not even this monster of a fic escapes my post canon love confessions craze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempre_balla/pseuds/sempre_balla
Summary: "A lifetime together, so much suffering in between, yet you’re still here."Felix and Dimitri, together throughout the years.





	A Lifetime Together

**Author's Note:**

> my first dimilix fic had a complete lack of angst and I was like, let's write a drabble that has some angst, something light but that lets me show the dramatic tension I love in their relationship. something tiny, no big deal! it's 14k words long, I've no idea what happened, but I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless. 
> 
> this was written in three days and edited in one, so it might not be my most polished work. still, it was fun to write, so I can only hope that it's fun to read too!

Dimitri is two months old when Felix is born. As one would expect, Felix remembers nothing of that time. From what he is told, however, they were inseparable from the moment they met. While Ingrid was also born around that time, she is raised in her own territory for the first couple of years of her life. Instead of following Count Galatea’s example, Rodrigue takes Felix and Glenn and moves to the royal palace for a few weeks to get his newborn son and the little princeling acquaintanced from the moment they start drawing breath.

Felix clings to Dimitri even as an infant that can’t open his eyes yet, they say. He grabs his little hand and squeezes it, and when Dimitri squeezes it back on reflex Felix wails and wails and wails, but when they try to pull him away he cries even harder. Moving back to the Fraldarius territory is the first little tragedy of Felix’s life, they say. But he knows nothing, remember nothing, and can only count on those stories ringing true because of the familiarity of holding that hand, and the fact that if Dimitri squeezes back, he’ll do it a little too strongly, and tears will threaten to fall. 

* * *

They are two years old when they meet again, and this time Ingrid and Sylvain come by as well. Felix is told that Sylvain got little Dimitri to laugh so much that day that the ice and snow in Fhirdiad seemed to melt due to the warmth and brightness of that sound. He is also told that he got pouty and jealous and clung to Dimitri’s arm for the rest of the day and glared at Sylvain all throughout. Felix prefers not to believe them, but he does believe the bit where Ingrid gives the first scolding of her life at an exceptionally young age, and the image of a snot-nosed little Ingrid scolding Felix and Sylvain for whatever it is that her two-year-old mind thought was unacceptable never fails to amuse him. 

Apparently, Felix, who speaks with the subpar fluency of any two year old, can’t seem to say Dimitri’s name. He trips over the consonants and gets so frustrated he tears up, so he starts calling him Dima. Sylvain is a better speaker at his older age so he calls him by his name, and Ingrid wants to call him ‘Your Highness’ but all she can manage at the time is saying ‘Prince’. So Felix is the only one to call him by that nickname and, happy to finally be able to call his friend’s name without stuttering through its difficulty, he spends the rest of the day uttering a mantra of Dima, Dima, Dima.

Felix still has no memory of the events, but there was a servant in the castle with a penchant for art, and they got him to draw the four children together. There was no time for a proper formal painting, but as simple as it is, every time Felix sets his eyes on the picture they are drawn to the prince’s radiant smile, and the arm he has looped through Felix’s. 

When the painting is done, Rodrigue asks the knight to draw a copy. Felix still has it safely stashed in a drawer of his desk. 

* * *

They are four years old and they are learning how to read and write. They had been gifted swords—toy swords, almost, considering how soft and harmless the material of what the blade should be is—the previous year, and Felix has been enamoured with the weapons since. He loves running around and asking Glenn to duel him, and then running back to Dimitri all angry when Glenn refuses. His duels with Dimitri are clumsy but they’re fun, and they are the first memory of the prince that Felix retains, his flailing with the harmless weapon, his awkward stumbling when Felix hits him on the head, his proud grin when he manages to beat him. 

But kids of the nobility must learn the way of the word, no matter if they are from Faerghus or not. So Felix, Dimitri and Ingrid sit together on a desk, writing down the alphabet together. Ingrid is almost done, a very quick study, but Felix is bored out of his mind. He tries to talk with Dimitri, but Dimitri waves him off, hunched over his paper as if to cover it from Felix’s sight. Felix sulks about it for a good while until Dimitri smiles at him, straightens his back, and shows him the parchment. 

“Look,” he says, proud and radiant. 

In big, messy handwriting, Felix can read his name. It takes him a little because he is still unused to associating letters with sounds, but his name was the first thing he learned how to write, so his jaw drops when he recognizes it.

“Do you like it?” Dimitri asks. He points at the last letter, which he has written with bolder strokes. “I really like this letter, it’s sharp and strong, like you. I wish my name had it.”

“I like it!” Felix replies. He takes his quill and his parchment and starts writing a big D. “Your name is strong too, Dima.”

“Thanks!” Dimitri says. “Ingrid, I’ll write your name too.”

“But we have to copy the alphabet…” Ingrid complains, but Felix blocks her out, because he’s concentrating on writing Dimitri’s name as beautifully as he can. 

It doesn’t end up looking very beautiful in the end but it makes Dimitri really happy, so Felix gives the piece of parchment with his name on it to him. Dimitri doesn’t give his to Felix because he didn’t stop at writing Ingrid’s name, but he wrote Glenn’s too, and then he wrote his father’s, and then he wrote Sylvain’s, but Felix doesn’t mind at all. Dimitri wrote his name first after all. Felix was the first person Dimitri thought of, and that is something that doesn’t leave Felix’s mind for a long, long time. 

* * *

They are six years old when they fight for the first time. Felix can never remember what the fight was about, and there was no one around to witness it so they cannot tell him, but he does remember storming off with tears in his eyes, stomping through the halls of his home, and bursting into Glenn’s room to jump on his bed and scream into the pillow. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he chants. “Dima is so stupid!”

“You're stupider than him,” Glenn replies unhelpfully, and Felix sits up to throw a pillow at him, which Glenn catches easily. In that moment, Felix decides that Glenn is stupid too. “What happened?” 

Maybe Felix tells him, or maybe he doesn't, he cannot recall. He only remembers a piece of advice Glenn gives him while he ruffles his hair. 

“He's leaving our territory tomorrow, are you sure you want to part on bad terms?” Is what Glenn says, his tone a little impatient. “You won't see him in months, and it's gonna feel bad to be mad at him for so long.”

And Felix takes the advice because Glenn is always right, he lets his brother walk him back to Dimitri’s quarters and then knocks on his door. Dimitri opens the door and his eyes are red, their bright blue shade dimmed by tears, so Felix hugs him close. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry, Dima. I love you most in the world.” 

“Me too,” Dimitri says, his small hands gripping Felix’s shirt tightly. “You're my best friend, Felix. Can we never fight again?” 

“We never will. Never ever.” 

That turns out to be a lie but, at the moment, Felix means every word he says. 

* * *

They are eight years old when Glenn tells them he’s engaged to Ingrid. They are on the training grounds taking a small break when he breaks the news and Felix and Dimitri look at him, stunned. 

“So you’ll marry her?” Dimitri asks, and Glenn sighs and nods. “When?”

“Hopefully when she comes of age, honestly,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “I get why they wanted to secure the deal early, but… she’s eight.”

“You’re a kid too,” Felix says, because he’s entered that age where he tries to look more grown up by pretending that the grown ups around him aren’t that grown up. 

“All the more reason for me to be weirded out.”

Dimitri tilts his head, clearly confused. “But I thought this is normal? Getting engaged because of our families?”

“It is, and it’s better that it’s me she’s engaged to instead of a stranger, but…” Glenn grimaces and crosses his arms. “Don’t you think it would be better if we could both marry someone we are in love with? Or even decide to marry but when we are older, and on our terms?” 

“You don’t love Ingrid?” Felix asks, and Glenn gives him a pained look. 

“I do, it’s just… not in the way that I would marry her? I just wish the old man hadn’t decided this on his own. It feels like he just raises us for other people instead of for ourselves.”

“What do you mean?” Dimitri says. “Rodrigue is nice, and he loves you.”

“I know, I know, but…” Glenn chews on his lower lip and looks at Felix, putting a hand over his own chest. “I got my years of being only Glenn, heir to House Fraldarius, before becoming a tool to get House Galatea out of financial trouble. But you… Felix, sometimes I feel like you were raised for His Highness alone.”

Felix blinks slowly, and then frowns. He really doesn't see a problem in being raised for Dimitri. 

“Does that mean I get to marry Dima?” he asks, and Dimitri gasps by his side. 

“That would be nice!” Dimitri exclaims, holding out his hands. Felix takes them with a grin, and glares at his brother when he hears a long-suffering sigh coming from him. 

“Why are all my friends little children,” Glenn grumbles, getting up. “I’m gonna go talk with Sylvain instead, you guys have fun with your wedding.”

Felix decides to very maturely stick out his tongue out at his brother, and Dimitri laughs and squeezes his hands tighter. In that moment, Felix pictures his wedding with a Dimitri donned in brilliant white, holding his hands in the same way and smiling in that manner that makes Felix feel like nothing can go wrong in the world. 

He leans forward and kisses Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri returns the favor, and Felix finds his fingers drifting to his own face over and over during the day, touching the spot that Dimitri’s lips brushed. 

* * *

They are ten years old when there is an assassination attempt against Dimitri’s stepmother. Felix doesn’t know anything about politics and can’t care about why someone would want to kill the queen consort instead of the king, because Glenn is wounded in the attack, and that is the only thing that matters. 

Glenn had been appointed a knight of the Royal Guard about three months before the attack. Aged fifteen, he was exceptional, and more than worthy to serve as a knight of Faerghus and protect the royal family. Felix had been so proud of him that he spent all month bragging about how incredible his big brother was for achieving something so big at such a young age. Now Glenn is laying on an infirmary bed with a bandaged stomach and a pale face, and Felix is crying. 

“It’s my job, Felix,” Glenn tries to console, which only makes Felix cry harder. “I’m supposed to protect the royal family.”

“Then quit it! I don’t want you to die because of a stupid job!” 

“I won’t quit. I have always dreamed to be a knight. I won’t quit.”

Felix chokes on a sob, and he starts coughing into his hand. Glenn puts a hand on his back and it burns, that gentle, brotherly touch _ burns_. 

“I don’t want this,” Felix whispers against his fist. “What’s the point of protecting others if you’re just gonna die? That’s so stupid.”

“You have to understand, Felix,” Glenn says, his voice weaker and less gruff than usual, “that I’m not doing this out of a warped sense of duty.”

“Then why?”

“Because I love Faerghus and I love the people in it,” Glenn explains, and the hand he has on Felix’s back moves up to card through his hair. “I love Prince Dimitri and King Lambert and Queen Patricia, even if I’ve only known her for a year. I’m a knight because I want to keep people like them, and like you, and like every commoner walking the streets right now, safe. I’ve no interest in dying for the honor of a knight, but if I have to die to keep my loved ones safe, then I will.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Felix repeats, a steady stream of tears still falling down his cheeks. “You taught me everything and you still have so much to teach me. Don’t die.”

“I won’t, not now. The healer said I’m not in danger anymore.” The hand he has on Felix’s hair moves to his chin and nudges it lightly so Felix looks up. Glenn is giving him a serious stare. “Tell me something, Felix. Would you die for Dimitri? If it had to be either you or him surviving, who would you choose?”

“Him,” Felix replies. His eyes widen, surprised by his own lack of hesitation. Glenn just smiles sadly. 

“Right.”

“I would also do it for you, though,” he continues, because he loves Dimitri, but he doesn’t think he could stand to live without his brother. “Or for Ingrid, or Sylvain.”

“Focus on living right now, little brother. Live as much as you can, and I promise I’ll live as much as I’m able to. However,” Glenn adds, his tone dropping lower, “if you ever die for Dimitri… let it be out of love. Not because he’s a prince, but because you love him.”

“I’ve never cared that he’s a prince,” Felix answers truthfully, which earns him a weak laugh. 

“True, but still. Believe that I will do the same. That I will die because I love, not because I must. Don’t let our father or anyone else convince you otherwise.”

“Why would Father…?” Felix asks, but Glenn cuts him off by wrapping his arms around him and hauling him up into the bed. “Hey!”

“You’re such a little squirt, a big crybaby, but I’m proud of you, you know?” Glenn says, giving him a tight hug. It’s really weird; Felix knows his brother loves him but he’s never this open about his affection. “No one else in Faerghus would tell me to quit the knights, but here you are!”

“Okay, okay, but let me go!”

Glenn only squeezes him tighter and Felix struggles, but he can never overpower his brother, not even when he’s lost blood and is weaker because of it. 

“Always stand for what you believe in, even if the people around you don’t agree with you. If you do that, you’ll become invaluable for your loved ones.” Glenn releases him and half shoves him out of his bed with a grin. “Now go talk to His Highness. He’s heartbroken that anyone would want to harm his mother, and he needs his best friend.” 

“Don’t _ you_ need your brother?” Felix asks, to which Glenn laughs. 

“I’ve had my fill, thank you! I’ll see you later.”

Felix sends him a doubtful look, but the thought that Dimitri needs him is enough to convince him to leave, jog to his quarters—which are heavily guarded by soldiers, who thankfully let him in without much resistance—and hug him on sight when he sees him sobbing into his pillow. Dimitri startles but then he hugs him back with bruising force, much stronger than Glenn just did. Felix would complain any other time, but he doesn’t now, he only focuses on squeezing back as hard as he can.

He’s no good with words of consolation, but he’s a good listener, so he lets Dimitri babble into his neck, wetting it with tears and snot as he nuzzles against it. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Glenn… is Glenn…”

“He’s just fine,” Felix says, rubbing Dimitri’s back. “He’s okay, Dima.”

“Will this happen again? Will the bad people try to take someone away from me again?”

“I won’t let them,” Felix reassures. “I won’t let anyone die.”

The words are empty, and Felix doesn’t know their weight. At the time, however, he believes them. And so does Dimitri, who thanks him over and over, promises the same back to him, and then falls asleep in his arms. 

* * *

They are twelve years old when Dimitri gets a new mystery friend and suddenly doesn’t pay attention to anyone but her. The time Felix could spend with him already started dimming as they matured, their training becoming a higher priority than their friendship, so to have that little time they had together taken away by a stranger that Dimitri doesn’t even want his friends to meet—she prefers solitude, apparently—frustrates Felix to no end, makes him clench his fists tightly and vent his anger on the training grounds. 

One day in which Sylvain is at the receiving end of his rage and sword, he has the gall to stop in the middle of their spar and spout the most ridiculous thing Felix has ever heard. 

“Stop taking your jealousy out on me, Felix. It’s not cute.”

“My what?” he spits, delivering a furious strike that Sylvain blocks with his lance. 

“You heard me,” Sylvain says smugly. He dodges the next attack with a simple sidestep, and Felix _ seethes_. “His Highness got a girl he likes and now you’re jealous because she’s stealing your best friend away.”

“He never said he likes her,” Felix replies, grinning when his wooden blade meets Sylvain’s shoulder and his friend grunts in pain. He delivers a sideways strike that knocks the lance out of his hands and points his sword at his throat. “I’m not jealous, I just miss him.”

“You’re definitely jealous,” Sylvain counters, raising his hands in defeat. Felix decides to ignore that universal sign of peace to jab the blunt point of his sword at his throat. “Ouch, hey! I’m just stating the truth!”

“Not everything has to be about romance. I just think he should remember he has other friends.”

Sylvain just grumbles some more instead of agreeing with him, but Felix knows he’s right. Dimitri’s other friendships have never bothered him before, but they’re supposed to be best friends, and best friends don’t ignore each other like this, they don’t prioritize another person for months just because they can. 

They’ve already grown apart a little. Not much, but as they became older Felix started to realize that the physical closeness he and Dimitri shared wasn’t exactly… normal for two boys, and he couldn’t handle the teasing from those around them. Dimitri was bad at taking it as well, always flushing bright red, so they stopped holding hands and hugging so much, and started spending most of their time talking and training together. Felix stopped using Dimitri’s nickname so much, favoring his actual name instead. The new distance doesn’t feel too artificial, but Felix secretly longs to call him Dima all the time again, to hold him as close as he did when they were younger. 

And now… now, this mystery girl. Every few months, if they couldn’t be together or have an extended stay in the royal palace, Dimitri, Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain would always travel to whatever estate the others were living in to train and be together. But Dimitri has missed it this month. Felix and Ingrid are staying at House Gautier and Dimitri isn’t there because of that new friend and Felix is lonely, his other friends are there and he loves them but he is so _ lonely_, and he doesn’t even have his brother to come crying to because Glenn is permanently stationed at the castle in Fhirdiad.

Felix realizes that he doesn’t think he can live without Dimitri, and his feelings are a contradictory mess. He isn’t very surprised by that realization because Dimitri is his best friend, he means _ everything_ to him, but the fact that he is so heavily tied to someone else sort of stings, it’s kind of scary and he doesn’t know why. 

He wants to live for himself, Felix thinks. Not for Dimitri, not for anyone else, but for himself. 

What he doesn’t question at that time is that his life will be spent by Dimitri’s side. He can live for himself and decide to spend that life with another, he concludes. He only hopes that Dimitri will snap out of it soon and remember who his best friend is because, as far as Felix is concerned, his mind is only occupied by one person, and it hurts when that person doesn’t look his way. 

* * *

They are fourteen years old when everything goes to hell. Felix loses Glenn, and Dimitri loses everything. 

“He died a true knight’s death,” Rodrigue tells Felix, and Felix feels true hatred for the first time in his life. Deep and simmering within him, his hatred isn’t aimed at the people who killed the person he admired the most in the world, but at his father, who dares to turn his son’s death into something positive. 

It’s not positive at all. There is a hollow feeling in Felix’s chest that he cannot shake and he feels numb, apathetic. Tears haven’t come to him yet, but he accepts Glenn’s death because he knows. He is the only person who knows that Glenn didn’t die a true knight’s death, that his older brother died a selfish, love-filled death. He hates that it happened but he understands, and is grateful that Glenn let him understand. He feels like he could easily be haunted by the ghost of his brother if he hadn’t been told what he was told, and is extremely grateful for the things his brother taught him. The fact that he doesn’t have to live with that burden and can focus on carrying Glenn’s memory and getting stronger than he ever was is a reassuring light in a time of darkness. 

Dimitri is different though, and Felix knows it. Dimitri doesn’t know the truth, and he didn’t only lose Glenn, but also his family, his friends, and every person who came to Duscur to protect him. Felix, who followed Rodrigue to Fhirdiad as soon as he heard the news, is currently looking for him in the palace. He finds him in a courtyard his stepmother frequented, sitting on a bench and staring at his lap. A tall boy that Felix has never seen before stands behind the bench, and he turns to look at Felix when he hears him approaching. 

He looks broken, his soul and spirit absolutely shattered, but there is a glint of determination in his eyes when he stands protectively between Felix and Dimitri. Felix assumes that it’s the boy from Duscur that Dimitri brought back to the palace, who his father had told him about on their way to the palace. 

“You didn’t kill my brother,” he tells the boy, whose eyes widen slightly in surprise, “so I don’t care about you right now. I’m here to talk to Dimitri.”

The boy looks shocked that someone would talk to him directly, and Felix can imagine how he has been treated by the other people of Faerghus he has encountered thus far. Glenn taught Felix how to think for himself though, and he thinks that hating the entire populace of Duscur for something that was probably a plot of only a few people is insane. Perhaps the boy senses his sincerity, because he nods and relaxes his stance, not moving but not saying anything either. Felix decides to just ignore him and circles the bench, standing in front of a Dimitri whose eyes look so hollow it’s like he’s not seeing anything at all. Felix’s throat tightens at the sight.

“Dimitri,” Felix calls softly. 

Dimitri’s eyes slowly shift into focus, and he trails his gaze up, fixing it on Felix’s face. There is a charged silence, and then Dimitri gasps like he’s choking. 

“Glenn?” he asks, his voice watery. He might as well have poured a bucket of ice over Felix’s head, because that single word chills him to the bone. 

“It’s Felix,” he replies. “I’m not my brother.”

“Felix…” Dimitri replies, like the name means nothing to him. His eyes widen and silent tears start pouring from them before he lowers his head, letting his long hair cover half of his face. “Oh, Felix… Felix… You must hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“I survived instead of him. He should have survived instead. You must hate me.”

“I’m happy you’re alive,” he says truthfully. The thought of hating Dimitri hadn’t even gone through his head. It’s not his fault at all, he’s clearly the one suffering the most. “If I’d lost you too, I don’t know what I would have done. Look at me.”

“I can’t,” Dimitri sobs, and he buries his face in his hands. “I look at you and see him dying.”

“I’m not Glenn,” Felix says, and he almost wants to laugh when he feels tears prickling at his eyes. He felt so hollow he couldn’t even cry before, but Dimitri always does this to him. Makes him feel too much, too quickly. “Will you never look at me again, Dimitri?”

“I don’t know.”

Wrong answer. Tears start falling freely, and Felix clenches his fists so hard his nails bite into his skin. 

“My hair isn’t wavy like his,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m better with a sword than him, and worse with a lance than him. Unlike him, I call you by your name, and I don’t care for sweets, and I don’t want to become a knight, and…” A sob cuts him off, and he furiously wipes his tears away. “And I cry more than him. And I’m your best friend. And I’m here for you now, offering a hand, some support, whatever, and you won’t even _ look at me_.”

There is a moment where the only sound filling the silence is the sound of Felix’s crying. Then, Dimitri speaks. 

“Your eyes.”

Felix sniffs. “What?”

“Your eyes are the color of the setting sun,” Dimitri says, his voice shaky. “Glenn’s were the same shade as Rodrigue’s.”

And with that, Felix feels like he can breathe for the first time since he heard the news of his brother’s death. The effect Dimitri has on him is always like this, strong and immediate.

“That’s right,” Felix replies, choked up. 

“I've always thought they're very beautiful. Warm, a rarity in Faerghus.”

“Mhm,” Felix hums. He takes a step closer. “I like your eyes too. So show them to me, Dima.” 

For all that it's worth, Dimitri tries. His hands shake when he takes them off his face, but he can't seem to be able to raise his head. 

“I-I… right now… I can't, I can't.” 

“Can I hug you, then?” Felix asks, because he isn't dumb or unfair, and he can tell Dimitri needs time after losing everything in such a gruesome massacre. “Can I, Dimitri?”

Dimitri nods, and Felix wastes no time stepping forward and cradling his head, pulling it forward into his chest. Dimitri’s arms wrap around his middle and squeeze so tightly it hurts, but Felix doesn't complain. 

He looks up and sees the Duscur boy staring at them with an unreadable expression. Felix, unsure how to feel about him, or about Dimitri not being able to look at him, just closes his eyes and lowers his head to bury it in Dimitri’s hair. 

Felix’s chest is hollow and heavy and he feels like he is sinking, but he thinks he can hold on if Dimitri stays in his arms. Once Dimitri cries his sorrows out, maybe he will manage to look at him, and the emptiness in Felix’s chest will slowly fill up again. 

* * *

They are fifteen years old when Felix finally sees what the tragedy of Duscur has done to his closest friend in the world. 

His relationship with Dimitri has remained strained. Dimitri is slowly pushing him away, but he has the nerve to act like he isn’t, like they’re as close as they were before the tragedy, like his smiles aren’t forced and like Felix can’t notice when Dimitri avoids making eye contact with him like his life depends on it. 

But Felix still loves him, and he still tries. He doesn’t have Glenn, his father is as good as dead to him, Ingrid finally stopped shutting herself in but she’s glorifying Glenn’s death as well now, and Sylvain is sort of there, but sort of not, his hollow acts of decadence increasing by the day. Felix feels utterly alone, like his only current friend is his blade, and he is desperately trying to crack through Dimitri’s newly founded walls. Despite the distance between them, he still considers him his best friend, so he tries, and tries, and tries, and then they are deployed together to quell a rebellion, and Felix’s entire world crashes around him. 

_ Oh, Dimitri died, _ he thinks numbly, the sounds of battle raging around him. _ They killed him in Duscur too. _

Because the person he sees in front of him isn’t Dimitri. That isn’t him. It is an animal that has replaced him, a beast wearing his best friend’s skin. The mighty strength of the body the beast inhabits is something Felix used to admire in many different ways, but then he sees a gloved hand effortlessly crushing a skull and he feels sick to his stomach. The screams and cries of the rebels are loud and thundering until the crazed laughter of a voice he used to love rings even louder, and it’s chilling, so unlike the prince’s warm laughter that was said to melt the Faerghus ice. 

The rebellion is quelled with Felix’s blade barely tasting any blood. He excuses himself to a corner and empties all of the contents of his stomach, throwing up on the ground.

“Felix! Are you okay?” Dimitri asks him, and when Felix turns around with teary eyes he sees an almost angelic face with a concerned expression. The blood tainting it makes him feel ill again, but he has nothing else to puke. 

“Seems like I have another person to mourn,” he says, his voice ragged. 

Dimitri tilts his head, a sickeningly perfect picture of innocence still stained with blood. A lie, a lie, a lie. Not Dimitri, but a beast. A boar. 

“What do you mean? Did we lose any of our men?”

“Goodbye, Dima.”

“Ah, that nickname,” Dimitri replies, sounding pleased. A lie, a lie. Felix gets up. “It’s been a while.”

Felix says nothing and walks away. It’s the last time Dimitri’s name will come out of his lips, a farewell to a departed loved one. That night, Felix cries his last tears for Dimitri, and shoves the portrait of them as kids, which he had always had in sight, into the depths of a dark drawer. 

* * *

They are seventeen years old when they join the Officer’s Academy. Felix had to make the difficult choice of staying in Faerghus with his fool of a father or going to Garreg Mach Monastery with the childhood friends he has been trying to distance himself from, but his pursuit of strength wins in the end, and he enrolls. He is quite eager for the superior instruction he will be able to receive in the academy, so he prepares himself to avoid his friends as much as possible and enjoy the lessons as best as he can. 

He tries to skip the entrance ceremony but Ingrid forcefully drags him to it, and even if he’s actively mean to her these days, he is still no good at resisting her. She pushes him into a group of known and unknown faces alike. Two girls and one guy that he doesn’t know, all of them nice-looking. Then Sylvain, the boar, and the boar’s lapdog. 

He has been purposefully avoiding the beast, so he has not seen him in two years. He’s taller now, broader, his hair shorter. He smiles at Felix like nothing is wrong, and tells him, “You’ve grown your hair out. It suits you.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Felix spits out, and everyone in the group looks at him with wide eyes. Dedue glares at him, Ingrid elbows him and the boar looks hurt, then resigned. 

Felix doesn’t care. He’s not going to care. This year is going to be dedicated to honing his skills and then hightailing out of there at top speed, leaving behind every relationship he once believed in. 

He will not mourn anymore. He only steps forward now, no looking back. 

* * *

They are eighteen years old when the boar finally snaps and Felix is there to see the downfall. Front row seats, fully spectating, an odd satisfaction deep inside him as Dimitri goes on a wild rampage and the rest of his class looks on in horror. 

It had been coming, oh, it had been coming for months. Since Remire Village, his mask started to crack around the ages and tear down little by little. Felix warned everyone and they never believed him but it was fine, because he _ knew _the boar would snap one day and then everyone would know he was right. Because even if the people around him were against him, Felix would stand by his beliefs. 

For the entire school year, the beast put his perfect prince facade on and everyone ate it up, but then they are at the Holy Tomb and the Flame Emperor is unmasked and he snaps, the facade breaks down completely and Felix gets to say see, _ see?_ That petty satisfaction is easier to feel than the horror of seeing the body of the boy he once loved so much commit such atrocious violence again, or the threat of impending war upon them, so he focuses on it, dwells on it, and doesn’t let the stubborn denial of his friends deter him. 

“Sorry, Felix, you were right all along,” Sylvain tells him that same night, patting his shoulder. “That was terrifying.”

“See,” Felix says. His voice sounds broken to his ears, somehow, and he clears his throat. 

“Our own, little Dimitri…” Sylvain sighs. “Is it weird that I’m horrified, but still really worried?”

“Yes,” Felix lies—to Sylvain and to himself. “What’s there to worry about? Dimitri is gone, and worrying about the dead is pointless.”

Sylvain just looks at him, fixes him with one of those unfairly clever gazes of his that Felix wishes he wouldn’t have. He feels like Sylvain can see right through feelings Felix himself doesn’t even dare to acknowledge, so he turns his head away. 

“Spar with me,” he says. “There’s fighting ahead of us.”

“Sure,” Sylvain replies, even though it’s late at night.

The fighting dawns upon them two weeks later. Felix experiences loss again, the loss of his professor, his surprisingly wholesome academy life, and the last remnants of his childhood.

Two months later, Felix, who had insisted like no other that Dimitri was already far gone, discovers that it is possible to lose him again. As it turns out, the prince didn’t really die in Duscur. He dies in Fhirdiad, executed by his own people, and the hollow in Felix’s chest grows much, much larger. 

* * *

Felix is nineteen years old, and it’s his birthday. He is now older than Glenn ever got to be. He tells as much to Ingrid, who weakly punches his stomach before stepping forward and hugging him tightly. 

“You’ve grown up to be much less handsome than him,” she tries to joke, and it is something so insensitive, so utterly unlike Ingrid, that Felix bursts out laughing. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and Ingrid joins in, and neither of them comment on how the other is shaking, how the tears that fall aren’t from their hysterical fit of laughter, or how tightly they hold onto each other. 

They also don't address how their tight embrace feels weak and insignificant compared to the hugs that came from another blonde in their friend group, which were bruising, but made one feel like nothing in the world could get past those strong arms and harm them. 

“Are we broken beyond repair,” he whispers to Ingrid, a statement more than a question, and Ingrid just shushes him, petting his hair. 

* * *

Felix is twenty years old and he feels like a madman while he searches for the boar. 

“A war is waging,” he tells Mercedes. What is left of the Blue Lions are looking for him and Dedue together. “We have better things to do than this.”

“But you believe that he’s alive,” Mercedes replies. Felix looks at her and wonders if there is a hollow in her heart too. “As do I. Dimitri is too strong to go down like that.”

“Or maybe we are all delusional,” Felix grumbles. “Why do we even want that beast back.”

“I wonder,” Mercedes says. Her words are contemplative, but her tone and gaze are focused and sharp, and it makes Felix uncomfortable. 

_ Because you love him, _ her eyes tell him. _ Because despite everything, you never stopped loving him. _

Felix storms off, knowing Mercedes will say nothing else but not wanting to be subject to that gaze anyway. He feels like a child stubbornly running away from Dimitri after a stupid fight, except Dimitri is dead, he is dead for real, and Felix’s stubborness is of his heart now, a heart that refuses to accept the loss of someone that used to mean the world to him, someone who used to be in every image of his future he envisioned. 

* * *

Felix is twenty-one years old when he returns to the Fraldarius territory for the first time since he was in the academy. The first thing his father says to him is, “Any luck with the search for His Highness?”

“We’re just trying to locate a corpse, do you know that?” Felix replies, and walks off before Rodrigue can reply. 

He walks into Glenn’s room, which looks exactly the same as its owner left it when he went to Duscur seven years ago. Spotless and dusted. Felix feels something akin to disgust at the utter care that went into maintaining this room when Felix’s own is only gathering dust, but he still drops to the bed and buries his face in the pillows like he used to do when he was little and Glenn was still a comforting presence in his life. 

“I guess he’ll only start loving me when I get myself killed while looking for the boar,” he mutters into the pillow. Not that he wants his father’s love, not at this point, but Felix’s chest is gaping and hollow, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to deal with. 

That night, Felix sleeps there and allows himself to miss his brother. He will take up his blade again the next morning and resume acting like he is ruthless and unfeeling, a lone wolf who isn’t crushed by the weight of his own solitude.

* * *

Felix is twenty-two years old when he returns to the monastery and finds his dead teacher and a dead beast, both alive and kicking. The professor is the same as Felix remembers, full of quiet smiles for their students. They hug every one of the Blue Lions personally when they reunite, and Felix doesn’t even try to act like the embrace isn’t comforting. 

The boar, however, is in such a sorry state that Felix is at a loss on how to take him in. He’s like a completely different person, no princely facade, no false smiles, just a dirty, savage beast. Uncaring, unfeeling, and only talking to the dead. He looks pathetic and terrifying all at once, and Felix looks at him, stares him down, wonders if he has lost Dimitri yet another time. Because when he first set his eyes on Dimitri he thought he had gotten him back, but then he realized that while Dimitri is there, he actually isn’t. He’s as good as dead, every ounce of humanity he possessed completely gone. Felix realizes that he took the Dimitri of their academy days for granted, that maybe there was still a bit of humanity there, that if he had tried harder then maybe he would have gotten his Dima back. 

But Felix is tired of trying, he’s tired of this one-sided dynamic of theirs where Felix cares, and stays there, and invests all of his energy into someone that hasn’t looked at him, _ truly looked at him_, for years. Still, he cannot pull away, not when they’ve gotten so far, not when they may be able to retake Faerghus now, not when they’ve spent five years looking and now they’ve finally found him, broken beyond repair, but they’ve found him. So Felix stares and stares and stares, follows Dimitri to the cathedral and watches his back, stays close to him in the battlefield and witnesses the monster in action, eyes him when he marches into the dining hall to get just enough food to survive and leaves without a word. He looks at the unkempt hair, the dirtied skin, his single eye. 

_ What a pity_, he finds himself thinking when his eyes drift to Dimitri’s eyepatch. _ Both of his eyes were beautiful. The color of the morning sky. _

The boar looks at him even less than he did before the war. He doesn’t make much eye contact with the others either, but he downright avoids getting his eyes anywhere near Felix’s face, no matter how much he provokes him. Felix knows why. After all, Professor Byleth told him that Dimitri talks to ghosts now. He’s probably afraid to look at Felix’s face and see his resemblance to Glenn, and even though it’s not the first time this happens, it feels like a knife to the gut. 

It’s amazing how Dimitri doesn’t even have the energy to pretend that he’s human anymore, and yet he can still hurt Felix’s feelings so easily. It’s like his hidden talent, a skill he mastered along the way. 

Or maybe Felix is to blame, for loving him with such fervor that any small betrayal coils around his heart and makes him writhe in pain. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten so attached in the first place, then this wouldn’t be so hard. But there’s no use dwelling on it now. All he can do to keep himself together is keep fighting and spitting his venom at the boar. He finally reacts negatively to Felix’s jabs, he bristles and grunts and glares at somewhere ambiguous like Felix’s shoulder or the wall behind him. It brings him a bitter kind of satisfaction, and drives him to do stupid things like walk to the cathedral at night and stand in front of the boar. 

His eye is out of focus, seeing right through Felix. 

“Glenn,” the beast says, his voice rough, and Felix is transported to a night in Fhirdiad eight years ago. They’re not naive kids anymore though, and Dedue is dead instead of looking at them a few paces away. “I’m sorry. I’ll get her soon, I promise.”

Felix’s hands itch with the impulse to punch the creature, but he holds back 

“Look into my eyes.”

The boar obliges, looking at him in the face for the first time in years, and his eye slowly widens in understanding before it narrows in anger. 

“Was it the color of the setting sun, you said?” Felix taunts, smiling bitterly. “Do you still recognize it, or can your beastly brain not see colors anymore?”

Dimitri pushes him away roughly and Felix is sent flying, crashing against the rubble of the cathedral, broken stones digging painfully into his back. He lets out a shallow gasp before he starts laughing breathlessly. His unfocused vision catches the boar covering his face with his hands, and he laughs harder, coughing and choking but unable to stop. 

“You’ll only start seeing me when I’m dead!” he exclaims between laughs. He gets up slowly, wincing in pain. He doesn’t think anything is broken, but his whole body will definitely be covered in bruises the next day. “When I die because of you, you’ll turn me into one of your ghosts and then you’ll act like you regret this, like you miss me. You’ll put words I never said in my mouth and say I want Edelgard’s head when I couldn’t care any fucking less about what the goddamned Emperor dies for.”

“Shut up,” the boar growls, an animalistic quality to his voice that Felix is starting to get used to. 

“No,” Felix replies, grabbing the damned thing by the collar and shaking him. The animal’s head hangs back, his hair covering his eye, and Felix wants to laugh again. “I’m telling you now, but you will be wrong. You will put those words in the imaginary mouth of the ghost your crazed mind creates and you will be wrong. You will use me but that will not be me, will never be me, because I will be gone forever, and you will have missed every chance that I gave you to have me back. Every single one of them will go to waste.” He lets the boar go and grabs his hair roughly, tilting his head back so his eye is visible. He’s still looking another way, so Felix spits on his face. The boar doesn't even flinch, but he wipes the spit away. As if something like that could disgust someone as dirty as him. “And I’m telling you now, you wild animal, that if you think that Glenn would have ever cared about anything like revenge, then that means you never knew him at all.”

“Silence!” 

Felix steps back in time when Dimitri tries to push him again, and he laughs mirthlessly as he dodges a poorly aimed punch the beast throws his way. 

“You say he speaks to you but he doesn’t, boar, he doesn’t. He stopped speaking the moment he drew his last breath in Duscur. The only reason I allow you to say my brother’s name in vain like that is because you’re so wrong and delusional it’s honestly laughable.”

“You don’t know _ anything_.”

“I know far more than you ever will,” he sneers. “You know, I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ll go ahead and take Edelgard’s head myself when we march to Enbarr. Rob you of the satisfaction of killing her.”

Before Felix can register any movement, there is a hand closing around his throat and lifting him off the ground. The pressure cuts his breathing off, but he still manages to muster up a smile as he looks down at the rage in the boar’s eye. 

_ Good_, he thinks, letting resentment coat his final moments. _ Kill me and let that haunt you. Look at me, look at my corpse and regret how you’ve been treating me since the tragedy. _

He doesn’t struggle, lets his vision blur at the edges, and then he is falling. He lands painfully on the ground and coughs, bringing a hand to his throat and looking up to find the professor standing between him and the beast, protectively shielding Felix. 

There is yelling between the two, but Felix tunes it out, rubbing his neck and blinking to clear his vision. It dawns on him that he almost died, and all because of his reckless provocations. He never intended to throw his life away, yet he almost just did. He hates what the boar is doing to him, hates that he still has such an influence on him, hates that he almost strangled him to death and yet Felix knows without a doubt that he will be there again tomorrow to continue to watch his back. 

Glenn is dead and the dead feel nothing but, distantly, Felix thinks that if his brother could see him right now then he would be very disappointed in him. 

The professor walks him back to his room, an arm around his waist to support his staggering steps. 

“Do you want to die?” they ask him, and Felix shakes his head. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking. He’s not worth the effort.”

“You don’t believe that.”

_ Clearly I don’t, _ he thinks bitterly, but says nothing. 

The next day he looks into the mirror and sees that the high neck of his undershirt doesn’t cover the entirety of the finger-shaped bruises that have formed around his throat. He shrugs to himself and walks to the training grounds. He hopes no one asks him about them because he doesn’t want to explain that he almost got himself killed the previous night just because his reason sort of shatters whenever the boar is involved. 

He could heal the bruises with magic, but he doesn’t. Even if that wild animal will not look at him, on the off chance that he does, then he will see the marks of his violence on Felix’s skin, marks that only exist because Felix is alive, stubborn, and relentlessly there for a person that doesn’t deserve him. 

* * *

Felix is twenty-three years old when his father gives his life for the feral remnants of the crown prince of Faerghus and dies what he would call a true knight’s death. Felix sees it from a distance, watches Rodrigue’s life slip away as he spouts words of reassurance while sparing no glance or word for his own son. 

Rodrigue says that none of the people that died in Duscur died for Dimitri, says that they died for what they believe in. Wrong until the end, that old man, for Glenn died for Dimitri, died because he loved him, and Felix can tell that Rodrigue is doing the same. Felix feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and another around his waist, Sylvain and Ingrid holding him from each side. The support makes the hollow that is rapidly growing as his father’s breath abandons him feel a little fuller, a little more bearable. 

“There’s no one to hold him,” he says numbly, his voice sounding far away to his ears. Dimitri is crying, sobbing like a child, and Felix can’t move from his spot. 

“He looks like he’s coming back to himself,” Ingrid says with conviction. Her voice sounds like she’s crying, but Felix can’t tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him to check if she is. “He may let us be there for him now.”

“Not now, not immediately,” Felix whispers. He needs time too, a few hours to himself to sort his thoughts. 

“Back to the monastery, then,” says Sylvain, nudging them both to walk away. “Let’s get away from these corpses.”

Felix nods, sparing one last glance at his father’s body before turning around. He takes two steps and stops though, wordlessly prying himself away from his friends. He turns back around and jogs to Rodrigue’s side, where the professor looks at him sadly and Felix just shakes his head. He steps around Dimitri, who is hunched over in tears, crouches and takes his father’s hand. He holds it for a few seconds while it still has some warmth, then lets it go and gets up. His eye catches Dimitri’s, and Dimitri is looking right at him, his eye bright with tears. He’s seeing him, Felix realizes. Not Glenn, not Rodrigue, but him. Felix smiles sadly, and Dimitri chokes on a sob.

He walks away, catches up to Ingrid and Sylvain once more, and says, “I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me either.”

“But…?” Sylvain prompts, reading Felix well. 

“I’m still sad.”

“That’s okay,” Ingrid reassures him, taking his hand. “That’s normal.”

Felix squeezes her hand and nods. Sylvain takes his other one and they walk away in silence. Felix feels like a child again, but not in a bad way. He feels cared for and accompanied, and his heart isn’t heavy when he thinks back to Dimitri. He’ll talk to him tomorrow, he decides. No taunts, no provocations, just words. He will try again, because that’s what Felix does, never give up on Dimitri even if he has every reason to. 

The next day, Dimitri apologizes to them. He looks at Felix in the eyes and Felix tells him to prove himself through his actions. He calls him Dimitri and Dimitri smiles, something subdued but almost as radiant as the big grins he used to wear when he was a kid. A new dynamic is born there, between the two of them. Dimitri is painfully honest and self-deprecating in everything he does, but he is also earnest and he tries, he really, truly tries. For the first time, Dimitri is doing his best for the people around him, and Felix takes it awkwardly, completely unused to Dimitri paying attention to him after so long of doing just the opposite. He finds himself bristling, being meaner than he intends to, unable to show just how proud and relieved he is to see his friend slowly but surely coming back to his side. 

It’s awkward because Felix’s eyes have been following Dimitri for years, always trained on him, but now Dimitri catches his gaze. He turns his head when he’s sparring at the training grounds and waves Felix closer. He looks up from his papers at war meetings, their eyes meet, and he smiles shyly, looking back down. He sprints towards him in battle and parries an attack that would have heavily wounded Felix had Dimitri not been paying attention. It’s odd and sudden, but not unpleasant. Dimitri is far from forgiven, but he’s properly walking forward, and Felix can’t help but stand with him every step of the way. 

They take back Fhirdiad on the next moon. Faerghus gets their king back, and the people rejoice. Felix isn’t one for nostalgia, yet he can’t help but feel at ease inside the castle walls as he walks through the familiar hallways. There is a private graveyard in the eastern wing of the castle and he heads there empty-handed, ready to stare at Glenn’s grave for a while and then decide that he’s being stupid and go back to the celebrations. 

Dimitri, as usual, wrecks his plans. He is standing in the middle of the graveyard, the moonlight shining upon him and making his hair seem almost white. Felix walks towards Glenn’s grave in silence and finds flowers resting on the light stone. They’re purple and Felix can’t recognize them, but he thinks they look very similar to the shade of his brother’s eyes. 

“Should we build Rodrigue a grave here, or would you prefer to have it in your estate?” Dimitri speaks after a long silence. 

“Here is fine,” he replies. “That empty house is already a graveyard, in a way.”

A pause, and then Dimitri says, “I really stole your father from you, didn’t I?”

“Again with that crap,” Felix groans. They’ve been over this a few times during the past month. They’ve talked, Dimitri has told Felix that he has opened his eyes thanks to him in regards to his attitude towards the dead, and yet here they are again. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about his death.”

“Ah,” Felix says dryly. “You’re talking about how he acted like you were his son after Glenn’s death and completely neglected me.”

He glances sideways at Dimitri fast enough to see him flinch and grimace. A smile tugs at Felix’s lips, but he holds it down. 

“I am so—”

“Not your fault, Dimitri.” Felix turns to look at him fully, and Dimitri sends him a tentative glance. “We were kids and he was an adult, every choice he made to neglect me was on him, not either of us.”

“Still…”

“You have plenty of faults on your own, so there’s really no need to blame yourself for stuff that you took no part in,” he says, which promptly shuts Dimitri up. Felix sighs heavily, looking back at Glenn’s grave. “I know you loved my old man dearly, but he was a lousy father, and that’s entirely his fault. Even Glenn thought so.”

“He did?” Dimitri asks in a small voice. Felix hears him walking closer so he takes a step to the side, making some room for him to stand in front of Glenn’s grave as well. 

“My father was a powerful man, and great at what he did, so he respected him in that sense. So did I, but… Don’t you remember?” He looks back up at Dimitri, who holds his gaze. A simple action that never fails to make Felix feel like his chest is a little fuller. “How often Glenn would question my father’s decisions when it came to the way he treated us?”

Dimitri looks pensive for a few moments until he smiles sadly, cocking his head at Glenn’s grave. 

“We really did whatever we wanted with your brother’s memory, didn’t we?” he whispers. “I thought Ingrid was wrong for glorifying him so much, but I also remembered him just as it suited me. You were right all along.”

“As I tend to be,” Felix says, and Dimitri lets out a surprised chuckle. Felix glares at him, but there is no anger or malice behind it. “You better learn how to listen to me from now on.”

“Your word is sacred, my dear friend,” Dimitri replies, and Felix feels his heart jump to his throat. 

He hadn’t realized he had averted his eyes from Dimitri, and now that he looks back up at him he sees him smiling softly, the blue of his eye shining with emotion. His gaze is so tender, so utterly focused on Felix—as if he is the only person that matters in that moment—that he has to look away again, terribly flustered and quite mad about it. 

“Good,” he croaks, his voice breaking. 

Dimitri doesn’t comment on that, but he does stand a little closer. Felix’s heart beats wildly in his chest and, for that small moment, the permanent hollow in his heart feels inconsequential, replaced by a completely different feeling that he cannot name. 

* * *

They are twenty-four years old when Dimitri is officially crowned as the King of Fódlan and he appoints Felix as his royal advisor. Felix wants to kick his teeth in for that, but he is secretly over the moon that Dimitri needs him that much. 

He’s been making headway, that boar of his. His mental stability continues to be a total wreck and there are days where he still keeps everyone at an arm’s length, but he’s good at facing his troubles now, and is learning how to ask his friends for help. He feels responsible for too much of the wrong in the world, nightmares still haunt him, and the scars he has gained throughout the years haven’t abandoned him, but he’s not alone anymore, and neither is Felix. 

They slowly but surely become inseparable again. They are less honest about it, but they rely on each other as much as when they were children. The horrors of what they have been through plague Felix as well, and while he doesn’t cry about it in Dimitri’s arms, he knows they can talk about it over a drink. 

Felix feels comfortable leaving the Fraldarius territory to his uncle so he moves into the royal palace. He takes the room Glenn used to live in when he was a knight, requests it even. His real house feels too empty with the absence of his brother and his father, but the palace is loud and bustling with activity, so he can handle his brother’s memory without feeling the crushing loneliness that has been plaguing him for years. 

Most of his friends are in Fhirdiad too, and they make life much brighter. Ingrid and Ashe are knights of the Royal Guard, so they sleep in the same hall as he does and they hang out together all the time. Dedue remains faithful as ever, a loyal retainer to Dimitri through and through, so they work together every day and get along much better than they used to. Annette takes up a teaching position in the sorcery school she attended as a teen so she’s very close by, and she even lets Felix listen to her songs when she’s in a good mood. Sylvain is managing his own territory up north and Mercedes is serving in Garreg Mach to assist the new, completely inexperienced archbishop. Felix misses them, but they visit often so he cannot complain. 

There is a lot of work to do, but Felix’s heart feels lighter than it has in years. He behaves properly when must and does all the paperwork and crappy diplomatic stuff he has to do, and in turn Dimitri indulges him in frequent spars, runs around the palace grounds, and late-night talks. He used to think he would be horribly unhappy if he were to remain in the nobility, but his king favors him and lets him do his work without any pressure. He leaves the door open, never forcing Felix into anything, and Felix doesn’t walk through that door, he stays and watches his escape route, feeling at ease that it’s there and knowing he will never have to use it. 

The door is metaphorical, of course, but they are doing paperwork together with an open door right now, since the room was feeling stuffy. Felix is staring at the hall, twirling his quill in his hand as he thinks. 

“Do you know what I found this morning?” Dimitri speaks up, and Felix looks at him. 

“Some old knickknack with sentimental value?” he guesses. Dimitri’s eye widens, and Felix snorts. 

“How did you know?” 

“How long do you think I've known you for, boar?” He twists around in his chair and leans forward. “C’mon, show me what you found.”

Dimitri looks downright sheepish as he opens a drawer and takes out a worn-down piece of parchment from it. He lays it on the desk and Felix scoots his chair closer to read it. 

In big, clumsy letters, Felix reads Dimitri’s name. Under it, in the same awful handwriting, ‘Dima’ is written. It’s been so many years, but Felix remembers the day when he wrote that with astounding clarity.

“You kept it,” he breathes. The words come out of his mouth before he can help it, and his voice sounds so emotional that he clasps a hand over his lips to avoid saying anything else.

“Ah, so you remember?” Dimitri says, smiling at him and then down at the paper. “We were really young and my memory of that day is fuzzy, but I recall treasuring this as a child. The first gift you gave me.”

“Don't call something so insignificant a gift,” Felix says, his words hurried. He's afraid to let himself talk, afraid to let his mouth run and reveal that of course he remembers, that the day where Dimitri wrote his name before anyone else’s is one of his favorite memories, that it was the first time in his life where he felt like he was special to someone.

“It is not insignificant to me, Felix,” Dimitri says, like that’s something normal to say about a dumb piece of paper a four year old Felix scribbled on. “And it has made me realize that you have not called me Dima in a very long time.” 

Felix sputters incoherently at that. He could try to maintain the little dignity he has left at this point, but he doesn’t. He reaches for anything he can throw at the king and his fingers find a quill that he unceremoniously hurls at his face. Dimitri catches it and Felix debates throwing the ink pot next.

“Why would I call you that?” he asks, his voice a little too loud. “We’re adults! You're my king!” 

“What does our age, or me being a king matter?” Dimitri replies, frowning. He takes a deep breath and chews at his lower lip. “It's just… I really, _ really_ treasure our childhood memories, Felix, especially the ones I have with you. You were so sweet back then…”

“Shut your mouth.” 

“And well, I took everything for granted those days, but now I don’t anymore and… I just want to mend our relationship, I guess. Be as close as we were back then.”

Felix eyes him for a long moment. The sentiment warms him, it really does, but Dimitri’s sincerity is more than embarrassing, and frankly exhausting—especially because Felix feels compelled to return it, and he’s not good at that kind of thing anymore.

“Weren’t we working on it already?” he sighs. "Or was I the only one who thought that?”

“O-oh. Oh, yeah, definitely.” Dimitri nods twice and looks down at his lap. “I just wanted to communicate about it, I guess. Since the professor always tells me that communication is the key to healthy relationships.” 

“Maybe communication isn’t so good when you’re so awkward about it,” Felix grumbles, as if he doesn’t appreciate the gesture so much he could cry. 

“Still… I will keep trying. Because you are worth the effort.”

Felix inhales sharply and looks back out of the hallway. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, his voice quiet, his heart swimming in his chest. “Okay.”

Dimitri says nothing else and gets back to work. Felix just sits there for the rest of the evening, not wanting to leave his king’s side and not knowing what to make of his feelings. 

* * *

They are twenty-five years old when Felix realizes that he’s in love. It hits him fast and sudden, grips him by the throat and leaves him breathless, useless. 

It’s Dimitri’s birthday, and Felix has gotten him a gift. He didn’t plan to, he hasn’t given him a gift of any sort since they were kids because Dimitri is the sentimental kind of guy that says that his friends’ company is more than enough of a present, which negates all obligations of buying him something for any special occasion. His other friends often tell Felix that he should buy him something, but in those cases he just brings up the excuse that he’s a lousy gift giver—which he is, the last time he tried to give Annette a gift she thought he was pranking her and threw it at his face. 

However, Felix had gone to his most trusted blacksmith to mend a dent in his favorite sword, and while he was waiting for his sword to be done he spotted a broken lance with extremely fine detailing, and his jaw dropped in surprise. 

“Is this… a lance of Zoltan?” he asked the blacksmith, who regarded him for a moment before nodding. “I’ve never heard of him forging lances. I thought he only did swords, bows and axes.”

“His lances are rare, but he crafted some in his time,” the blacksmith replied, her eyes focused on her work. “I want to repair it and sell it, but the blade is so nicked and the pole is completely busted. It’ll be too expensive to repair it, so I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

And Felix, a man who hasn’t held a lance in years, who finds the weapons way too heavy for his liking, opened his mouth and blurted, “I have money.”

“Clearly you do, Duke Fraldarius,” the blacksmith answered dryly. “I’ll happily repair it if you give me the money, though. Call it a passion project.”

Felix licked his lips, thinking of a day many years ago where Dimitri got so excited over Felix’s Zoltan sword and smiled so genuinely that Felix forgot he was trying to hate him, forgot he considered his best friend to be dead. 

“Can you have it done before the twentieth?” he asked. 

“This month? It’ll cost you more.”

“That’s okay. I’ll pay as much as I have to.”

So Felix is standing in front of Dimitri’s room, holding a disgustingly heavy lance behind his back, trying to steady his breathing. He’s not insecure about his gift because, as bad as he is at choosing gifts for other people, he’s always been the best at choosing them for Dimitri. He’s sure the king will love it, he will probably even cry, but Felix is still nervous. The act of giving such a personal gift feels like he’s lying his affection bare, and while he can’t deny that he does feel affection for Dimitri, and he might even admit that he considers him his best friend again, he’s not good at showing that kind of stuff anymore. He feels vulnerable when his feelings are out in the open, and vulnerability is one of the feelings he has come to hate the most throughout the years. 

Still, he wants to do this. Felix knows that Dimitri was born at noon, but he has decided to give him the lance at midnight because he doesn’t want to wait until the morning to thrust his gift at Dimitri and run away and pretend it never happened. It’s unlikely that Dimitri is sleeping, he’s probably finishing some extra paperwork in the privacy of his room so Dedue doesn’t see him and scold him about overworking again, so Felix steels his nerves and knocks. 

He hears the telltale sound of paper rustling and rolls his eyes. His gift better distract the man from his kingly duties for the night, at the very least. The door opens after a little while and he looks up to see Dimitri dressed far too lightly in a white shirt with the first few buttons undone and simple black pants. Felix stares at his neck and collarbones and shivers. 

“Oh, Felix!” Dimitri greets, smiling way too brightly. “What brings you here?”

“It’s the Ethereal Moon, dumbass,” he replies, glaring at the king. “Button up, get a cape or something. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Ah, it’s warmer inside. Do you want to come in? I have the fireplace lit.”

“Sure,” Felix says, shrugging. He feels the lance move with the motion, and Dimitri finally trains his eyes on it. Felix stands up on his tip toes, trying to block it from view as much as his height allows him.

“...I dearly hope you are not planning to spar with me on my quarters,” Dimitri says carefully, and Felix clicks his tongue. 

“Just let me in.”

Dimitri eyes him warily before he steps inside, holding the door open for him. Felix walks through, noting that it _ is _much warmer inside, turns so the lance still isn’t visible to the other man, and waits for him to close the door. They look at each other in silence, and Dimitri shuffles awkwardly in place.

“So?” he says after a while, gesturing vaguely. 

Felix takes a deep breath and brings the lance forward, holding it sideways so Dimitri can examine it. The man is upon it in an instant, tracing every detail with an eye that doesn’t take long to widen in surprise. 

“This… this craftsmanship…” Dimitri says, wonder clear in his voice. “Felix, where did you—?”

“For you,” Felix interrupts, pushing the lance forward. Dimitri closes his hands around it and takes it gingerly, disbelief written all over his features. 

“What? Felix, I cannot accept this.”

“And let it go to waste?” Felix retorts. He expected this kind of response, and he has his words ready. “I’m never gonna use it, you know I don’t like handling lances.”

“But… why would you give me something so valuable?” Dimitri asks, and Felix can’t help but smile because forgetting that it’s his birthday is such a Dimitri move. 

He could mock him for it but he decides against it, settling for a simple, “Happy birthday, Dima.”

Dimitri drops the lance and he is lucky that Felix’s reflexes are fast, because he catches it shy of hitting the ground. The weapon isn’t so fragile as to shatter upon impact, clearly a lance like that wouldn’t be suitable for Dimitri, but _ still_. 

“Shit, Dimitri, be careful!” He chastises him, resting the pole of the lance on the floor and considering if he should just put it away before Dimitri actually breaks it. 

“Can you say that again?” Dimitri asks, his voice shaky. Felix looks up at him again and raises an eyebrow at the awestruck expression on the other man’s face. 

“What, happy birthday?”

“No. Can you call me that again?”

Felix feels his cheeks heating up, and he glares at his king. 

“You’re so embarrassing,” he grumbles, but he still can’t deny him. “Dima.”

Dimitri lets out a shuddering breath, and his gaze is so intense that it almost makes Felix want to hide. It was a part of his plan for the evening to call Dimitri by his childhood nickname as cheesy additional present, since he still hadn’t gotten around to calling him that again. Felix expected tears as a possible reaction, maybe a ridiculous grin as another, but Dimitri’s smile is impossibly soft, so light that one might miss it, and his eye _ shines_. 

“Felix,” he says, emotion coating every syllable, tenderness evident in the inflection of Dimitri’s voice. “Thank you.”

And in that very moment, Felix feels like his heart stops beating. It just stops, the entire world stills, and suddenly everything is clear.

_ I'm in love with him, _ he thinks. Dimitri is back to eyeing the lance, clearly wanting to take it back, and it's endearing and it shows how happy Felix’s gift has made him and Felix thinks, _ Oh Goddess, I've always been in love with him. _

_ There hasn't been a day of my life that I haven't loved him. _

Felix silently hands Dimitri his lance back, and Dimitri takes it carefully. Their hands brush in the process and Felix’s heart beats again. It beats, and it beats, and it beats, and it doesn't stop beating. 

It will never stop beating, not for him. Not for Dimitri. 

* * *

They are twenty-six years old. They are spending their last night at the House Gautier territory after a long week of tense negotiations with Sreng. There is a watchtower in the estate, a tall and sturdy structure that is ugly as sin to behold but has the most magnificent view in all of Faerghus, and Dimitri and Felix are climbing it together. 

They had snuck into the tower before, once when they were little. That day, Ingrid was practicing on her pegasus and Sylvain was helping her along because the weather in northern Faerghus is unpredictable and things could easily go wrong, so they were bored out of their minds.

“Do you think we could see the Fhirdiad castle from that high up?” Dimitri had asked. 

“Of course not, that’s too far away,” Felix had replied. “I bet we can see my house, though.”

So they snuck past a sleepy guard and climbed the tower. Back then, the steps had seemed to go on forever, their shorter legs straining to reach the top. Now they climb it easily, a comfortable silence between them. Felix recalls that the long climb hadn’t bothered him at all back then because he had had Dimitri’s company. He feels much the same now, but the climb is over much sooner and he has to stop looking at Dimitri’s back to take in the visage. 

Snowy mountains, a deep valley, dark trees, and the setting sun. Felix breathes in the clean air and slowly lets himself relax, leaning onto the block of stone that serves as a railing and closing his eyes. It’s been a really long week.

“The world seems much smaller now, does it not?” Dimitri speaks up. His voice is hoarse. He had to raise his voice a lot to let himself be heard in the chaotic negotiations. “It seemed so big the last time we were here.”

“We’ve grown bigger ourselves.” Felix opens his eyes and looks at Dimitri. The king is staring right at him, his expression serious. “And we’ve seen much of the world, I suppose.”

“There is still much more to see,” Dimitri replies, turning his gaze back to the scenery. “Much more to learn. We are young, so I do not doubt that we will do our fair share of growing.”

“Maybe so.” Felix scoots to the side and bumps his shoulder against Dimitri’s. “As long as you keep moving forward, I have no complaints.”

The corners of Dimitri’s mouth twitch, and Felix feels his own quirking up as well. “Please, when was the last time I got stuck in the past?”

“It _ has _ been a while. But I still have to keep watch.”

“Oh? And if I slip, what will you do?”

“Knock some sense into you, obviously.”

Dimitri’s smile widens, but he still looks ahead. Felix can’t keep his eyes off him, and he doesn’t bother anyway. He is as much of a sight as the scenery around them. 

“As reliable as always, my trusted advisor,” Dimitri says, and Felix bumps their shoulders again. Dimitri laughs quietly. “I am serious, you know. I must thank you.”

“You thank me too much.”

“I say I don’t do it nearly enough.” Dimitri is the one to bump their shoulders now, but he stays there, pressing against Felix’s smaller body. Felix looks away and pretends he doesn’t love the contact. “You are always so patient, so loyal, so good to me. A lifetime together, so much suffering in between, yet you’re still here. Climbing this tower with me like we did when we were kids.”

“Cut it out, boar,” he grumbles, embarrassed. The word feels more like an affectionate nickname than an insult these days. “You need to stop acting like everyone does everything for you and you do nothing in return. It’s needlessly self-deprecating, which means it’s annoying, and it’s also kind of self-absorbed.” 

Dimitri takes the jab graciously, as he tends to do these days. He raises an eyebrow and looks at Felix with open curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are also here.” Felix makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Climbing the tower with me. Being cold as shit up here to watch a view we don’t even care about that much, all for whatever sentimental value we ascribed to this dumb place when we were kids.” He takes a deep breath and looks into Dimitri’s eye. “It’s just a stupid watchtower, Dimitri. But you’re here, just as I am.”

Dimitri regards him for a long moment, his expression neutral, before he smiles fondly and raises his arm to drape his cape over Felix’s back, setting his hand on his shoulder and tugging him closer. The cape is ridiculously large and ridiculously warm, and Felix guesses the heat rising to his cheeks adds to the effect. 

Physical contact like this is still rare between them, but it has become increasingly common these past few months. Dimitri is becoming more affectionate, and Felix never pushes him away.

“You should have told me you were cold,” Dimitri says, his tone playful. Felix wants to step on his foot or elbow him on the ribs for that, but he crosses his arms instead, looking away. 

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you’re still here,” Dimitri whispers, and Felix doesn’t have anything to say to that. “Can I say something really selfish?”

“I won’t stop you.”

“Now is probably not the best of times,” Dimitri starts, turning slightly so his cape still covers Felix from the wind but they can look at each other comfortably. “I would have liked to do this in the Goddess Tower, to be honest. In fact, I used to dream of it. However… it was too soon, when the war ended. Far too soon. And we have not had the chance to visit the monastery together since.”

Felix frowns. The implications of Dimitri mentioning the Goddess Tower make him almost dizzy, but he doesn’t dare to hope, not when he doesn’t believe in the legends of love that are tied to it. 

“What are you getting at?” he asks. 

“Um, well.” Dimitri scratches his cheek with his free hand. “It is best to cut to the chase when you are involved, I suppose.”

Felix scoffs. He’s starting to get nervous, and nothing frustrates him more than feeling nervous. 

“You suppose right. Out with it.”

“I love you,” Dimitri says, ducking his head. It’s a shy reflex of his that he developed when he grew his hair out, but he has it tied up so Felix can see his flushed cheeks and his insecure gaze. “I always have, Felix. I know our positions are… complicated, but I would like to pursue a romantic relationship with you.”

Felix takes a few seconds to process the words, and then feels something coiling in his chest. A feeling, a tension, a powerful emotion that fills that hollow that he could never get rid of and renders him speechless. He just looks at Dimitri, who is completely avoiding his gaze, and tries to breathe, tries to think. Tries to find any indication that he heard wrong, but he didn’t, he didn’t. Dimitri just confessed to him. 

There is something about their relationship that Felix has never wanted to admit: for all of his talk of Dimitri being held down by the ghosts of his past, it is a fact that Dimitri is always one step ahead of him. Felix would always insist to himself that he does nothing but move forward, but he cannot deny that he has done exactly the opposite of that throughout his life; choosing to slow down instead, to walk at the same pace as Dimitri lest he leave him behind. He’s always trailing after him, always has, and always will. Felix sometimes thinks that he was born two months after Dimitri just so he could follow him, so he could watch him closely from behind, and when Dimitri has chosen to move forward, Felix has always followed. 

Felix hadn’t been planning to confess, not his king, not to someone with actual attachment to his bloodline. He had been content with their close friendship, felt it was more than fulfilling enough, so he hadn’t bothered to consider if his feelings were reciprocated or not. He should have expected them to be, he realizes now, for Dimitri is fated to one-up him, to take the first step so Felix can follow. 

“I understand if you reject me,” Dimitri speaks up, his voice shaky, “but please say something. I cannot bear this silence.”

“I’m not gonna reject you,” Felix blurts out, and he bites his lower lip when Dimitri looks up at him in shock. 

Damn. He hadn’t meant to sound so earnest. Dimitri may have his unwavering loyalty, his unshakeable love, and his entire life for all Felix cares, but he still has a reputation to maintain. 

“W-what? What do you mean?”

Felix puts a hand on his hip and tilts his chin up, trying to appear confrontational even though there’s not much to confront Dimitri about. 

“You always assume the worst before I even get the chance to speak.”

“Then speak, I beg of you.”

Felix looks away, stubbornly hiding the pleasure of hearing Dimitri _ beg_. Felix wonders if he could push him to beg even more, to watch the king lower himself to ask for something he already has. 

“I don’t feel like it anymore.”

“Felix!” Dimitri protests, and he sounds so childish Felix simply can’t resist anymore. 

He lets out the huff of laughter he has been holding back and turns to his king, grabbing his chin and pressing their lips together. He does it hastily, a firm but brief kiss, and pats himself on the back for not missing his mouth. Quick and precise suits him as far as first kisses go. He pulls back after that, slips out of Dimitri’s cape and puts some distance between them. 

“There you go,” he says. He wants to sound confident but embarrassment is catching up to him and he sounds choked up instead. “My answer.” 

“I… I…” Dimitri raises a trembling hand to his lips, and he looks unexpectedly angry. “Please use your words next time. We are adults.”

“Exactly, we are adults,” Felix replies, crossing his arms. “So grow up and deal with it.”

“I wasn’t prepared! Kiss me again while I’m prepared so I can at least _ reciprocate_.”

Felix wants to laugh again, and he is honestly amazed at how easily it comes. He doesn’t remember the last time laughter came so naturally to him. _ I must be really happy_, he thinks, feeling warm all over. Classic Dimitri, always making him feel so intensely. He turns around, giving his back to the king.

“Don’t feel like it,” he lies and walks ahead. 

For once, he is content to let Dimitri follow after him. He feels his gaze on his nape, hears his steps behind him, and sees a shadow looming when he blocks the light at the entrance to the stairway. When Dimitri grips him by the shoulder and turns him around to kiss him some more, he doesn’t resist. 

He puts his arms around Dimitri’s neck and lets himself be kissed, the warmth of it all filling that hollow in his chest, making him feel whole again. 

**Author's Note:**

> the gift felix mentions giving to annette is a weird lizard he finds in a swamp. he tells her "here, a swamp beastie" and puts it on her hands and annette cries for twenty minutes after that
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/deformedcities/)


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